As dawn broke over the still-sleeping streets of Whiterun, Svana sat up, wide awake in bed. Quiet; the city was too quiet. Too lazy and restful.

She only heard the servants shuffling about on the lower level, no doubt getting ready for another day at the inn. Brooms scraped across the stone floors. A bucket tipped and water sloshed to the floor, followed by the frustrated cry of a maid.

By the time Svana had finished readying herself for the day, the fires had roared to life in the main hearth, and tea kettles began to whistle. Plates and mugs clinked as they were being prepared for the busy breakfast service. And then heavy, stomping boots. They strode in from the main hall, up the stairs to her room…

There were three polite knocks on her door.

"It's me, Farkas," came the muffled voice. "You up?"

Svana could barely contain her excitement. She nearly tripped over the vanity stool as she made her way to unlock the door.

"It's early," she said as a greeting, "What are you doing here?" Svana examined him, strapping in that armor he wore proudly, the mark of a wolf sculpted onto the chestpiece. She tried not to let her gaze linger too long on the cinched waist of his wide belt. "You're all dressed up too."

It was an amusing sight, the way Farkas hemmed and hawed over what to say. He looked like a puppy admitting to tearing the quilts to shreds.

"I was uh, wondering if you could fix a knife for me."

Svana raised her brow. "Thought you had the Skyforge?"

"I do but Eorlund's, um… well, this is the fifth time this week it's happened."

By her count, Farkas was either very careless, or very unaware of the strength he possessed.

"Well, I could fix it, but that's kind of an odd request."

"It is?"

"It's too early in the morning, for one." She jerked with her chin down to the servants below. "They've barely started their day. What are you really here for?"

He began to rub the back of his neck and it looked as though he struggled to get his words out. "Well, you mentioned that you were going to be heading off to find your brother."

Svana hummed in confirmation.

"Figured… well, since you're handy with fixing stuff, and since you look like you need help…"

Her eyes practically said: 'Out with it.'

"Maybe I could help train you."

Svana blinked at the offer. Being trained? By a legendary Companion? Stories of their valor, bravery and skill were known throughout Skyrim. The power they wielded was not just something told in amusing fairy tales. It was real, and Svana had seen it before her very eyes the night those brigands accosted her.

"Train me? Your other friends seem to think I'm a lost cause."

"Aela? Don't mind her, she's more bark than bite."

"Is this even allowed? You shouldn't be breaking any rules for me."

Farkas frowned. "I'd feel bad if I let you go and you get carved up by some bandits or something."

"That's awfully sweet of you."

"Maybe we can do an exchange? I train you and you can fix the gear I break."

Svana quirked a wry smile in his direction. "Won't the great Eorlund Grey-Mane be very upset some nobody went ahead and meddled with his work?"

"Saves him the trouble of yelling at me."

Farkas fished out the knife from his pack, and sure enough, it was gnarled. The blade was bent awkwardly, the leather on the handle twisted out of place.

"It's a utility knife," Farkas repeated. "Used on the road, not for killing. Or hurting."

The way he emphasized the words to show he wasn't some mindless, fearful murderer made Svana smile with realization.

"I can shape it back, if your friend at the forge will let me." She examined the ruined knife as he handed it to her. She had seen mangled blades before, but none to this extent. Still, it was manageable, and already Svana was beginning to plan the repairs in her mind.

"She will, Adrianne is a good person."

But those words still wouldn't leave her. Not for killing, or for hurting.

"I'm not afraid of you," Svana said as she turned around to walk back into the room, a quiet invitation for Farkas to enter. "Don't worry."

His hesitation was cute. "Why not?"

"Because you're a good person. You helped me with those brigands, and you're not just turning me out on the road."

Farkas nodded. "A lot of people are afraid." He cleared his throat. "Of me, that is. They're also afraid of the brig— nevermind."

Svana looked over her shoulder, placing the mangled knife on the vanity, inviting him to elaborate with her glance.

"Most people fear us. I know they respect us, but they fear us first."

"You're legendary warriors. I'll admit, I don't know how to act around you or your friends."

Farkas folded his arms over his impressive chest, his silver eyes making him look like a deadly wolf in the night. It was hard for Svana not to be taken by that handsome face.

"Just like this is fine."

"I didn't mean to offend." Why is it so hard to talk to people? Svana wondered then if it would just be better if she shut up entirely.

Farkas sighed. "No, you… you didn't. It's been a while since someone's talked to me like another person."

"It's been a while since someone's done that for me too," Svana smiled.

Farkas looked over to the leather armor, draped over the back of a chair in the corner. "So uh… Did you manage to try it on?"

"We tried it on at the shop, didn't we?" Svana followed his gaze, then returned it to those silvery, moonlight-colored eyes. "I know I ate a lot last night, but give a lady some credit."

She could've sworn she saw him blush, even in the early morning light.

"Just… figured you could try wearing it when we get to training."

Oh. Training. That's what he was here for, wasn't it?

"When do you want to start?"

"How about now?" He leaned against the doorframe, the wood creaking under his impressive build.

"I…" Svana realized then she was still dressed in her nightgown.

"Do you… have anything to do? I'm not imposing, am I?"

"I haven't eaten anything yet." Everything seemed too rushed, moving along too quickly. "Where would we even train?"

Farkas only flashed a charming grin, knowing and clever. "Home."

Coming from a famed Companion, that could only mean one thing.

Svana was never known to be shy or demure when presented with a challenge. That was for her siblings, who cowered and hid and softened their words. But not stony, unwavering Svana. Or at least, that was how she liked to see herself. The big sister, ready to stand against ice and frost for her family.

But even her bravado was no match for the imposing shadow of Jorrvaskr's legend. The mead hall seemed to tower over the rest of the city; even the guards that patrolled held reverent gazes at the sight before them.

Svana tried her best to keep up with Farkas' long strides, her head bent to focus on the pavement beneath them. A part of her began searching for an excuse to leave. She felt so awkward in her armor and her axe. Like she was playing pretend at being some heroic warrior. Like she had any hope, or right, of fighting alongside the Companions of legend.

She wondered if she should spare Farkas the trouble now rather than later.

"Don't be nervous." His voice was sweet, entirely belying his fearsome build and battle prowess. "If anyone gives you any trouble, they can answer to me."

"I don't know." Svana stopped and Farkas turned to look at her. "I don't think I should do this."

"How are you going to defend yourself, then?"

It was a reasonable question. Svana began scanning their surroundings, perhaps hoping for an answer to jump out of the charming bushes planted along the road. They stood beneath a plaza, the center of it housing a gnarled tree that looked like it had caught lightning in its bark. An ugly thing in such a pretty city.

Just as ill-fitting as she was in the leather armor.

What was she getting herself into?

"I'm sorry, I just… don't think I should waste your time like this."

Her eyes lifted, and her gaze was caught by an imposing statue of Talos, guarding the steps up to the legendary mead hall. Offerings were placed at His feet, gold and flowers and blood.

A calm washed over her, as though a spirit tugged at her soul. Fear nothing, girl. She hoped the voice within her was right.

Farkas placed a large hand on her shoulder, "You're not. People who waste my time get my fist." He flashed a soft smile. "But you, I like."

And she returned one in kind.

Jorrvaskr was about as hallowed a place in Nordic culture as Sovngarde. Svana half-wondered if she ought to offer a prayer as she made her way up the steps. The mead hall seemed to hum with a warm energy, resonating into Svana's bones, a familiar yet strange sensation. As though she had been here before, lifetimes ago. She wondered then if it was because of its legend, of its age that she felt that way.

But there was no denying the pull she felt as Farkas led her through the grand wooden doors. She stayed behind him, obedient and inoffensive.

Her eyes wandered and gaped at everything in the hall. That resonance was louder now, thrumming softly in the back of her mind. Caressing her mind like a friend. Home. You are home. You are safe.

She swallowed a lump in her throat as she followed Farkas through the hall. Plaques of legendary arms hung on the walls, the names of their bearers written beneath in Nordic runes. Armor of every make and style was on display, proudly displaying the battle wounds that felled their Shield-Brothers and Shield-Sisters.

The tall walls and ceilings were made from the hull of the original ship that had ferried Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions from Atmora. Legend made real. The rafters hung impressive banners of holds and conquests, woven from stories and myth. None of the tales she had heard could compare to the real thing.

But most impressive of all was the large fire pit in the center of the hall. Flanking that was a long, large dining table, filled with mead and food. Svana's eyes went wide.

Here was where the warriors would gather. Here was where they would lead each other in song for their battles and courage. Here was where they would convene, heroes in their own right, basking in their glory and companionship.

She felt her breath leave her lungs, completely captivated at the situation she had found herself in.

"Help yourself." Farkas gestured to the table as he began to fill his plate with cheeses and bread and meat. "Get enough to build up your energy."

"I… I shouldn't."

She wondered if it was frustration or an exercise in patience when Farkas growled sharply under his breath. Soft enough that she might not have caught it if she hadn't been paying such close attention to him.

"I get it, I do." He looked to her now, and she began to feel the weight of those silvery eyes. "But I'm inviting you, as a friend."

"I don't want to get you in trouble." She felt stupid for saying it. Trouble? Did Companions even get in trouble? With what she'd heard in tales, they could wander into a town, make a mess of the place, and they would still be celebrated for it.

And why wouldn't they? They followed Ysgramor's legacy. That alone held high honor in any hold.

But Farkas put his own plate down and began piling food onto another, taking a little of everything. Then, he presented it to her. "Here."

Svana couldn't deny him, so she took his offer, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

Farkas patted a spot next to him on the bench. "Join me."

Invader. Unworthy. Waste of time. She wanted to stamp those horrid thoughts out of her mind, but the longer she lingered, the worse she felt. She didn't deserve this. But she couldn't offend Farkas. He was being friendly, and he was helping her.

Even if his methods were a little strange.

"Sorry, just… never got used to people offering me things like this." She began to pick at her food, only sheer restraint preventing her from wolfing it down in one go.

"Yeah?"

"Had to work for your food." She remembered then to keep her voice down. The mighty halls were still quiet; its deadly warriors were no doubt still sleeping, and she didn't want to find out what would happen if they were rudely interrupted from their rest.

"Hard life?"

Svana shrugged. "Only life I knew. You get up early in the morning, work until you're tired, then go home. You don't keep that up, you're out of food."

"That's why you were up so early?"

"Old habit; if I don't feed the chickens my mother would have tanned my hide and sold it to the blacksmith."

Farkas laughed at that.

"She would've made good on that threat, too," Svana added with a smile.

"I like her already."

They ate in silence for a moment, though with the way Farkas shuffled about in his seat, she wondered if he wanted to ask her something. Or if someone had caught her presence in the hall.

"Good morning Farkas, up so ear— oh." The voice of an elderly woman surprised them both.

She had gentle eyes and a warm complexion, and wrinkles that seemed to be born from laughter and smiles rather than a difficult life. Her hair was neatly cut and pinned back with pretty silver combs, and her dress was beautifully tailored to her aged frame.

Then Svana noticed the calluses on her hands, and the scars that littered her arm. Something deadly and dark hid beneath that kind visage.

"Tilma," Farkas greeted too quickly. "Morning."

The woman, Tilma, gauged Svana with an unreadable look, staring up and down her form. "Another ah… rabbit from your hunt?"

Farkas blushed. "No, ma'am."

Rabbit. Svana wondered if that meant… no. He was honorable. Would Companions offer themselves that way? But the way this woman mentioned it… No, it's none of your business.

"A friend?" Tilma guessed again.

Svana stood up too fast, suddenly aware of her own presence. "I—I'm Svana."

"That's a pretty name, girl. How do you know Farkas?" She gave her a warm smile.

Svana looked to the Companion, hoping he would answer, but he sat there, mouth full of food and eyes darting away. He looked like a guilty pup, eager to hide from his owner's stare.

"He helped me fend off the brigands outside of town," Svana said, trying to hold her own. "I was on my way to warn the Jarl about Helgen."

Tilma perked up at that. "Oh, my goodness. That was you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I take it Farkas and the others kept you safe?"

"I didn't get hurt too badly," she said with a nod. "I'm fine. I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have imposed."

"Nothing to be sorry for, although visitors usually aren't allowed in these halls." The way her tone sharpened at Farkas… it was familiar. Her own mother used it whenever Svana and her siblings found themselves in trouble.

Farkas, with his mighty build and terrifying looks, did everything he could to make himself look as small as possible. He rounded his shoulders inwards and bent his head down. "I thought I could help her, she's heading off soon. Figured… she could, I dunno, learn something to keep herself safe."

Tilma had a clever but unreadable look in her eyes. As though she deciphered some great secret.

"Well, that's a fine thing to do, helping a young lady with her training. I won't tell Kodlak, but you two ought to clear out of here before he wakes."

"Yes, ma'am," the pair said quickly, hauling off their plates of food to the training yard.

"But Farkas?" Tilma quickly added. "I'd clear this up with our Harbinger. No secrets between family, you understand?"

He only nodded in understanding, a look of shame veiling his features.

The sun was barely in the sky when Farkas began their training.

"C'mon, you apprenticed with a blacksmith, you should have a good swinging arm," he said as he easily blocked a strike with his forearms. "That's the best you got?"

Shut up! Svana wanted to yell, but more than that, she wanted to keep up. Already her muscles were starting to get sore… and tired.

"Why are you helping?" Svana asked when she had a moment to catch a breath.

"Keep striking, no talking."

She grunted. One two. One two. One two. The last strike went too hard, too awkward.

Farkas walked over and adjusted her stance. "Again."

"Again?"

"Again."

She shook her head and returned to her stance, now adjusted. Her fists went flying against the Companion, who barely flinched as her strikes landed against his arms. One two. One two. One two. The last strike earned her a grin.

"You're getting it."

"Why are we doing this?" Svana braced her arms on her knees, feeling her limbs trembling.

"If you can't strengthen your arms, you can't control your weapon. A sloppy hit is worse than no hit. Leaves you vulnerable."

The sun inched above the horizon, coloring the sky with bright blues.

And Farkas did not relent.

"You think this is gonna work?" Svana asked as they switched their practice to blocking, instead of striking. Svana barely defended herself before Farkas landed his hit.

"Focus, and quit lookin' a gift horse in the mouth."

She readied herself for the next round of hits. Deflect, not stop, she repeated. Deflect the attack, move it away instead of trying to stop it outright. She tightened her core and strengthened her stance. The next set of hits came. One two, one two, one two. She deflected them all without any of the grace of a true warrior.

She was sure if the other Companions saw her, she'd be laughed out of the yard. Might even ascend to Aetherius from shame alone.

"You're overthinking it," Farkas barked. "Just do what comes to you, it's instinct."

By the time Whiterun began its morning properly, Svana was draped over a chair, completely spent and tired. Farkas sat across from her, his own breathing heavy, but controlled.

Svana's arms and muscles burned. She swore that if she continued any longer, they'd just fall off and she'd be content to sit in the dirt for eternity.

"You okay?" Farkas asked.

"My arms…" Svana wanted to rub them, soothe the aches she was feeling, but she was too tired even for that much activity.

"You want to cool your body down." Farkas reached over to a trough of ice cold water and filled a bucket. "C'mere."

Svana was too winded to say anything in protest. Much as she wanted to whine, she wanted relief. And if the Companion said cooling down helped, then that was what she would do.

She mustered up what strength she could and made her way clumsily over to the small corner in the training yard. It looked like a bathing area, judging by the bloodstained towels and rags that hung on the rack behind Farkas.

"Sit down," he said, pulling a stool over and patting it. Svana obliged.

That was when he began undoing the buckles of her armor.

"W-wait." She put a hand over his, stopping him.

"Sorry," he said "Sorry, just, we need this off. Armor's gonna be ruined."

Svana let out a breath, then another.

"I just want to help."

"Why?"

"I'm a Companion, that's what I do."

Svana studied his face for a moment. Fearsome, yes. But handsome too. He had a chiseled jaw, and his skin was flecked with pockmarks and scars. Despite the ferocity he no doubt possessed in battle, there was a kindness in the way he expressed himself. But those silvery eyes...

Gods, something in those eyes pulled at her. Like the dragon in Helgen, like the sight of the mead hall.

Finally, she said, "Alright. I trust you."

"Thank you." Gentle. He was always gentle. Even when they trained. He may have pushed her, but he also stopped, asked if she was alright, asked if she wanted to take a break. It was only by her own choice that the training was allowed to continue.

He began undoing the buckles around her chest piece, careful not to let his touch linger too long or inappropriately. Her shoulder pieces were next, then the arms and legs. Every motion of her limbs screamed in pain, but he was careful not to extend them too far or too hard.

"How'd you end up Helgen?" Farkas asked.

Svana blinked, surprised by his question. "Why?"

"Said you were from Kynesgrove, right? That's what you said to the guards."

Gods, he remembered.

"Yeah."

"Been in Eastmarch a few times. Liked the hot springs there. Your family owned a bath house?"

"Not my family, another did in my village."

"So what happened?"

"Tried to look for my brother, got caught in an Imperial ambush."

Farkas's lips pursed into a thin line. "That's why I hate politics, and why the Companions don't mess around with things like that."

"Smart."

The armor was finally pulled away, and he let it rest on a nearby table. With the filled bucket of cold water, he began to pour it over her body, soaking her and her clothes. She wanted to yelp in protest… but as her skin settled into the sensation, her limbs hurt less. At least, she felt like she could move them some.

"We'll get you new clothes," Farkas offered. "Looks like you needed new ones anyway."

She couldn't disagree.

"Going through a lot of trouble for me," she began. "I feel like I've got to repay you something down the line."

"You don't. I told you, you gave us all a warning about a dragon. If you're the lady that's warning folks, the least I can do is help."

"Thank you, Farkas." Her eyes focused on nothing in particular. A patch of flowers growing in the cracks in the pavement. The curious-looking split down a wooden beam. "It's very kind of you."

"Don't thank me yet." He filled the bucket again, and poured the water over her once more. "Where are you gonna go after this?"

She wanted to savor the sensation of the cold water against her skin. The way it settled and soothed her aches. But he had asked her a question, and it wouldn't do to leave him without an answer. "I dunno. I don't have an idea where my brother could've gone."

"He never told you?"

"He ran away in the middle of the night. Don't think he was planning on telling anyone."

"Why'd he run?"

Svana's heart stopped. Because of me, she wanted to answer. She remembered the way Elsie had looked up at her, blamed her for Onmund running away. And she wasn't wrong. She punched Onmund. She punched him and told him to shut up. She ripped the book from his hands and threw it in the fire.

Now, he was gone.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

Farkas sighed. "I've done a fair bit travelling, been to practically every hold in Skyrim."

"Yeah?"

"Not much in the east. If I were him and looking for some loony excuse to live, I'd head west to Solitude."

The capital. So far removed from the rest of Skyrim and its older lands, some Nords said it was a glorified shrine to Imperial influences. She didn't know how much of that was true and how much of it was just the complaints of bitter old men.

"What's in Solitude?"

"Anything your heart desires. Easy jobs in Solitude that pay well, full of lazy lords and rich diplomats."

Svana hummed at that, as Farkas began to massage her shoulders, easing the tension in her muscles.

"Lots of things for anyone to do there. Plenty of jobs for us, more for underhanded sorts. Don't know about your brother, though. He the underhanded sort?"

Svana shrugged, lost in her thoughts about where Onmund could have gone. But if what Farkas said was true, that he had travelled all over Skyrim. She couldn't help but ask, "What about mages? Would they go there?"

"Plenty for mages in Solitude, too."

Another possibility. Another place to look. She wondered if Onmund would even know how to cross over to the western Holds. Had he managed to secretly save enough to get a carriage? All she could think about was how Onmund could have left, where he had gone, if he had known somebody that helped him.

Farkas got up, and her own musings paused at the movement. She watched as he walked over to a set of cabinets and dressers and pulled out a change of clothes. "Here," he offered. "These are mine but I think you can belt it up."

She took the clothes and made her way behind a divider, then peeled off the wet shirt and pants and changed into his. She toweled off her dark brown hair, wet tendrils still sticking to her skin. The clothes were too big, too loose, but they were warm, sturdy and nicer than anything she had.

Footsteps could be heard milling about the halls, doors and windows opening.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up and out of here." He slung her armor over his shoulders and offered his hand to take. "Can you walk?"

She nodded, but he never let that steadying grip on her loosen as they returned to the Bannered Mare.

Solitude, she wondered. Would her brother find happiness there? Fulfill his potential in a big, sprawling city? She hoped he was safe. Wherever he was. Safe and alive.